


Nobody Talks About The Morning After

by Must-Be-Thursday (Cleveland)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleveland/pseuds/Must-Be-Thursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very groggy Dean Winchester wakes up in his motel bed to find he has a mystery bedmate and quickly uncovers exactly what or who he did the night before</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Talks About The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published at ff.net on 10/26/2012

There were many times Dean had woken up in strange places, and many times he had woken up sore like the whole world had tried to kick his ass. Sometimes those two things went hand in hand. But when he woke up in bed with the sunlight coming in and aggravating his headache, a pain in his back, and a pain somewhere lower in his anatomy, he knew this was definitely not from hunting. Well okay that was new. He was laying on his stomach and he was pretty sure that was someone's arm under his right side. A draft blew through from some cracked window in the shabby hotel room and Dean realized he was naked and the cold breeze was blowing over his ass and back. Okay naked wasn't bad. Maybe he had stumbled in drunk and Sam had put him to bed and stayed with him.

But that couldn't be it for several reasons. Firstly he was naked and that didn't make sense unless...no that had only been one time and there were several pitchers of beer involved and a dare and he had ended up spilling beer all over himself. Sam had taken him back to the motel and undressed him and put him to bed, but even his brother with his infinite patience couldn't handle trying to re-clothe a squirmy, slurring, giggly drunk man. Yet Dean did not feel hungover, nor was he still drunk. Plus if Sam had put him in bed he would have at least two blankets on him and Sam would be wearing that pinchy worried face that Dean could feel even when he was the person next to him was not Sam making sure he didn't choke in his sleep. He was naked and aching with what was probably muscle strain and maybe a bruise or two. And at some point he had definitely had sex.

He was kneeling beside the bed, someone's hand in his hair, lips swollen from sloppy kisses and his nose buried in dark pubic hair. His hand is curled around a pale straining thigh and the person above him is quietly moaning his name but the voice is far away and hard to make out. Dean is hard in his jeans, rubbing a hand over the denim as he continues to lick and suck. He can feel heat all over his body and his hair is a sweaty mess being pulled and tugged.

Well that explained the jaw ache too. It was not from grinding his teeth in the night, but instead from enthusiastic fellatio. Awesome. Also, he was fairly sure there was a condom stuck to his thigh. He reached down and sure enough he peeled away a nasty bit of latex. Thankfully it was unused but still kind of gross to think about. Dean flicked it into a pile of flannel, and plaid, and...what appeared to be a beige trench coat. Oh. That was interesting information. He rolled off the arm he had been laying on, surely it was asleep and tingling like it was full of angry bees, and finally peeked at his mystery bedmate. All he could see was the tip of a nose, black eyelashes, and dark mussed hair. Shit. That can only be one person.

Dean had his face pressed into his arm, ass in the air, nearly purring like a wanton slut while Cas slowly fucked him with slicked up fingers. Cas' arm was pressed against his back in a poor attempt to hold his still. He pressed white-hot kisses up his spine, sucked a deep purpling mark onto his neck, and used his free hand to tweak one of Dean's nipples.

Just the memory of it made his cock twitch. He was going to hell. Again. For contributing to the corruption of an angel. Although Castiel seemed to know what he was doing. Probably watching porn again. Just his luck that he gets the awkward teenager angel. Well that mystery was solved and Dean was feeling the need for a hot shower to relax his sore well, everything. Apparently angels do sleep if you wear them out with enough vigorous fucking. He rolled out of bed, popping his neck and back, and looked around for his jockeys. He gave up after a minute of halfhearted searching and went to take that shower. The hot water felt good on his sore muscles and he slowly massaged out the last bits of tension as he scrubbed up with the cheap motel soap. That felt really, really nice and his hands began to stray as he remembered more of the night before.

There were nails running down his back. Leaving little red trails and then healing them up again in a second. Everything is slick with sweat and Castiel had the righteous man on his knees and was snapping his hips forward and gripping Dean's waist. The sound of skin slapping skin was loud in Dean;s ears, along with the soft sound of Cas' fast breathing and the occasional moan of his own. He can feel everything hot, full, and electric. Then Cas is flush against his back half moaning, half whispering something into his ear that could be latin, or french, or enochian, but whatever it is, it strikes something deep inside and Dean is spiraling into one of the best orgasms he has ever experienced. And Castiel is right there with him kissing his brow, his shoulder, his hands, every bit of him as he gives one last deep thrust.

In the shower Dean had his chest and arm pressed against the cool shower wall. With a practiced twist of the wrist he was spilling over his hand and stifling a moan in the crook of his elbow. He panted into the rapidly cooling water for a minute before getting out and toweling off. Then he drug his tired butt, in more ways than one, back to bed. He snatched a bit of scratchy motel sheet from the still sleeping angel and in a moment of affection he would deny under pain of death, slung an arm over Cas' waist. Content with his deductions, and slipping back into slumber, he heard the click of the latch and the sound of his giant brother tromping into the room. Sam stopped suddenly. Dean just cracked an eye to look at him. "Is that your underwear hanging off the ceiling fan?"

So that's where they had gotten off to.


End file.
